


there is no sign of land

by haemophilus



Series: [secondary characters] [5]
Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Dysfunctional Relationships, F/M, Marriage, The Mountain Goats, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-12-05 07:31:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 6,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11573331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haemophilus/pseuds/haemophilus
Summary: “Why the hell would I get married to some broad I didn’t love?"Scenes from Frank and Barbara's marriage.





	1. Moon stuttering in the sky like film stuck in a projector

**Author's Note:**

  * For [peskyfeelings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/peskyfeelings/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [peskyfeelings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/peskyfeelings/pseuds/peskyfeelings) in the [SunnyRarePairs](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SunnyRarePairs) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> 5 small vignettes from Frank and Barbara's marriage- maybe even some of the good times. I had to get create with the relationships tags but this should be a Frank/Barbara focused fic.
> 
> A title from "No Children" by the Mountain Goats isn't required, but would be great.
> 
> ***
> 
> Tallahassee is one of my favorite albums on the entire earth and I tend to get a little. . .carried away when it's brought up. This is actually going to be twenty-eight vignettes inspired by 14 lines from the album 'Tallahassee.' 
> 
> Blanket warning for substance abuse - pills, alcohol, cocaine, and smoking are the main ones. Mental health issues. Child abuse. Dysfunctional relationships. Cheating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for smoking, cocaine, and alcohol use.

Barbara was sitting on the apartment’s balcony, still in her wedding dress. She was smoking - a habit dug up by the stress of wedding planning. Clouds hung over the full moon, thick and heavy like her dress’ train. They moved through the sky like people in line for the bank. In orderly succession, they rid the city of natural light.

Her new husband was still out cavorting with his nasty friends. Greasy businessmen in pinstripe suits with huge appetites for sex and drugs stole him away in a limo. Hookers with blonde hair, breasts the size of cantaloupes, and a catalog of infectious diseases were crowded inside. Cocaine dust littered their flat stomachs. Frank, red-faced and sweaty, grunted as he stuck it into a barely-legal prostitute. Barbara tapped her cigarette off of the balcony, pursing her lips. The price of marrying rich.

They were due to leave for Jamaica early tomorrow morning. If Frank wasn’t home in time, Barbara was leaving without him. She wasn’t going to throw away a honeymoon flight to Jamaica just because her husband was absent. If he missed the flight, he could meet her there.

*

“How’s it feel being tied down, Frankie?” said Jimmy as he poured a tenth glass of champagne. Frank laughed.

“I feel like a million dollars!”

He took the champagne bottle from Jimmy, and drank the rest. Then, he burped and threw it across the limo. It smashed against the wall, startling Vinnie and his two hookers.

“Hey! Watch it! We’re bangin over here!”

“Sorry, Vinnie! I’m just so goddamn happy. Makes me wanna smash stuff - like Jews do at their weddings, you know?” said Frank.

Vinnie didn’t answer. He was neck deep in hookers again.

“Do ya love her?” said Jimmy.

Frank burped. He took down another bottle of champagne, and opened it with his teeth.

“Course I love her! Why the hell would I get married to some broad I didn’t love?”

He poured more champagne into Jimmy’s glass until it was overflowing. Then, he drank straight from the bottle again.

“You gonna stop banging whores after tonight?” said Jimmy.

Frank laughed again. “No. We’re both ploughing other folks. It’s one of the reasons I love her. As long as she doesn’t give me any bastards, I don’t give a shit.”

“I can drink to that,” said Jimmy. He clinked his glass to Frank’s bottle, and they both drank.

“Shit, I’m roasting like a rotisserie chicken in here,” said Frank, wiping the sweat away from his forehead. “I gotta crack open a window.”

He rolled down the window, and stuck his head out of it. The cool night air wicked the sweat away from his face. He looked up to see if the stars were visible this far out of Philly. Unfortunately, there was too much cloud cover to tell. Not even the moon was able to show its face. Frank pulled his head back into the limo.

“Anyone wanna snort more cocaine?”


	2. Bad luck comes in from Tampa on the back of a truck

“Those are the most hideous curtains I have ever had the misfortune of seeing,” said Barbara. Frank let go of the purple curtain with velvet patterns, and frowned at her.

“Everything else is beige. I wanted to add some color.”

Barbara scoffed. “Velvet curtains aren’t how you add color. Our house needs to look upscale, not like cirque du soleil.”

“‘Scuse me for being confused by all the gymnastics we get up to in there,” said Frank. He laughed at his own joke, head thrown back and mouth wide.

“You have food stuck in your teeth,” Barbara said. However, instead of being embarrassed like a normal person, Frank started to root around in his mouth with his fingers.

“Goddamn spanakopita.”

He took his fingers out of his mouth, and grabbed another curtain - green velvet this time. Barbara swatted his hand away, making sure to steer clear of spit.

“Are you an animal? At least wipe your hands on your pants first.”

Frank grunted as he complied. 

“This is only for the benefit of your  _ delicate sensibilities _ ,” he said. “I own this company. I can spit wherever I want.”

Barbara shook her head as she kept walking down the aisle. Finally, she found some tasteful curtains. She looked over to see what Frank was doing. He was chatting up a sales clerk with enormous breasts. Barbara sighed. As a male sales clerk walked by, she snapped her fingers at him.

“Does your store do deliveries?”

*

Truck after truck unloaded into their mansion. Fine china, mahogany, marble, and modern art picked according to Barbara’s tastes choked out any sense of Frank’s ownership of the house. His decade-old furniture was kicked onto the curb. Barbara pulled him by the wrist into the lifestyle of the nouveau-riche. 

“You look stunning,” he said to her one night as they slow-danced at one of her cocktail parties. Then he leaned closer into her ear and whispered, “A real nice piece of ass.”

Barbara laughed; her earrings glittered in the light. “Frankie, stop it.”

“I mean it,” he said. 

“You clean up pretty nicely yourself,” said Barbara.

Frank smiled. 

“Does all this stuff - the cocktail parties and the furniture and shit - does it make you happy?” he asked. 

Barbara smiled back. “Very much.”

He leaned his head on her shoulder as they swayed back and forth.

“You know, this life - this isn’t me,” said Frank. “But if it makes you happy, then this is the way that I’ll live. I love you, Barbara.”

Barbara stilled. She pulled away.

“I think I see a busboy being rude to the Johnsons. We’ll catch up later.”

As she walked away, Frank picked up his drink. He downed the rest. Then, he went to go find the bartender so that he could order three more.


	3. I buy you white gold

“Can I try on that one?” asked Barbara. The jeweler nodded, and pulled an expensive ring out of the case. She slipped it on her finger, and held it up to the light. 

“That ring is one of my favorites,” said the jeweler. 

“How many carats is it?” said Barbara.

“Eight, ma’am,” the jeweler said. Barbara waved her hand in the air; at every angle, the diamond shone brilliantly.

“White gold?” 

“Yes, ma’am,” the jeweler replied. 

Barbara took off the ring, and set it on the counter. 

“My husband will be in this week looking for an anniversary gift. Put this on hold, and upsell it to him when he comes,” said Barbara. “Let him think it was his idea.”

*

“Oh, Frank,” said Barbara. “It’s beautiful.”

“You like it?” said Frank. He scooted closer to where she was on the floor. Barbara took the box out of his hands.

“It’s like you read my mind,” she said.

The fireplace crackled while she silently inspected the ring. Her bright eyes illuminated the dim room. Barbara’s cheeks were flushed with wine; her face was hot against his palm. 

“Can I put it on ya?”

Barbara nodded, and handed the box back to him. She held out her left hand, and wiggled her fingers. Frank took the ring out of its box, and set the box aside. Tears came to his eyes as he slid the ring onto his wife. He blinked them away.

“Looks great next to the other ones,” he said. “At least, I think it does. What do you think?”

Barbara answered him with a kiss.


	4. Smoking like a chimney

“He’s due home soon,” said Barbara. She was nude and smoking a cigarette. Bruce sighed, and ran his hand through his hair.

“No matter how long we get together, it’s never enough,” he said. Barbara stubbed her cigarette out on the ashtray next to the bed. She rolled over, and kissed him on the side of his mouth.

“Brucie. That’s what keeps us going. I’m always excited to see you,” she said. He moved away from her, and sat on the edge of the bed. His head hung heavy on his shoulders.

“Do you love me?” said Bruce in a quiet voice. Her heart sank; this conversation was always so tiresome. Barbara sighed. 

“Do we really have to get into all this?”

Bruce clenched the blankets in his fist. “Yes! We’ve been sleeping with each other for six goddamn months.” He turned his head to look at her. “Is this going anywhere?”

Barbara got up, and draped herself over his shoulders. His skin was warm and musky. She tucked her face into his neck.

“I told you I was married on the first day we met,” said Barbara.

“You told me you were unhappily married the first day we met,” said Bruce. He leaned into her touch. “Don’t you want something more?”

The clock struck noon. Barbara pulled away. 

“Let’s talk about this later. I don’t want my husband to come in while you’re naked.”

***

Frank smoked a cigar as he watched his workers from behind the glass. Truck drivers were unloading new sewing machines, benches, and tables into the formerly-abandoned building. Inside, men, women, and children were sewing t-shirts at breakneck speed. This was his third sweatshop that he had opened in so many years; already, retailers were lined up to buy. The prices of his clothes were infamously low due to the cheap conditions and labor. He made a killing selling to outlets that didn’t ask questions.

The phone rang. He picked it up.

“Hello?”

“Frankie?” said Barbara. “Are you there?”

Frank’s face broke out into a smile. “Yeah, it’s me.”

“You sound like you’re talking into a tin can,” said Barbara.

“Price of working in all these backwards countries. No good phone service,” said Frank.

“I suppose,” said Barbara. Her voice sounded tight.

“You sound all tense. What’s going on?” said Frank.

Barbara took a shuddering breath.

“I’m pregnant.”

Frank’s heart started pounding. He was going to be a father.

“Oh, shit.”


	5. Dig up the laughing photographs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to get this finished today. Pray for me.

“Come here, Frankie. Look at what I found,” said Barbara. She was flipping through a stack of photographs unearthed from a box buried long ago during their move into the mansion. Frank sat down next to her. His face split into a huge smile. She held the photograph out to him, and he took it from her.

“One of the dirty pics you gave me when we first started dating! Where the hell did you find that?”

“It was buried at the bottom of one of these old boxes,” said Barbara. She leaned her head onto his shoulder.

“Shit, this must be seven years old. Can’t believe you still look this good,” said Frank.

Barbara laughed. She traced her body in the photo.

“Don’t joke. These babies are ruining my figure.”

*

“Well excuse me for not wanting to fuck you after spending all day with two humans ripping me apart on the inside!” yelled Barbara. Her face was red; a stack of photographs was gripped in her hand. 

“Excuse me for finding my wife attractive!” yelled Frank. 

Barbara laughed, humorless. 

“As if that means anything from the man who bangs cheap hookers  _ in our bed _ .”

“You sleep around in our bed too, you whore!” shouted Frank. His heart was pounding in his ears.

“Not with cheap hookers!” shouted Barbara. “My pillow smells like their trashy perfume and sweat for weeks after they’re gone. I’m shocked you didn’t pay me off to have an abortion too with your little fund that you keep tucked away.”

“Maybe I should have! For all I know, you have little bastards growing in there!” said Frank.

A pause that lasted a second too long.

“Do you?” he said, quieter. 

Barbara was breathing heavily. Her usual cold rage was spiking out of her, hot, sharp. She held up the stack of photographs, and tore them in half. Then, she threw them at his face.

“Go back to Vietnam and fuck a geisha. I hope you get the clap.”


	6. This day full of promise and potential

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for an in-depth description of pregnancy.

Frank and Barbara were watching a rerun of  _ I Love Lucy _ on the couch when the twins decided to move around inside her for the umpteenth time that day. She could see them now if she pulled up her shirt, grotesque lumps that protruded from her stomach. The three months until she was due felt endless; she wanted the babies out and she wanted it  _ now _ .

“Ow!” Barbara said as one of the babies kicked her rib cage. Frank laughed. She glared at him, and rubbed the spot where it hurt.

“You’ve got a feisty one in there,” he said.

“I think it’s the girl. She’s already got an attitude,” said Barbara.

“She’s strong-willed. Like her mother,” said Frank.

Barbara sighed. “I hope she’s not the one who comes out first. She’ll tear me apart.”

“Maybe the boy will eat her too,” said Frank.

Another kick, harder than before.

“If anything, she’ll eat him,” said Barbara through gritted teeth.

“Before or after they’re born?” asked Frank.

Barbara laughed, the pain subsiding.

“After. She’ll play with him before she eats him.”

*

Frank was in Vietnam when he got the call.

“Frankie. I’m in labor. Come home,” his wife said.

He booked the soonest red-eye flight to Philadelphia that he could. On the flight, he drank coffee spiked with whiskey. This was it. The twins were here.

His cab ride to the hospital seemed to take longer than the twelve-hour flight. The wait to be allowed into Barbara’s room dragged on. Finally, a nurse addressed him, and led him back to her room. The labor was over; her eyes were closed.

Frank sat down next to his wife, and touched her hand.

“I missed the action, huh?” he said. Barbara stirred.

“Mhm,” she replied.

“They got you on those new labor drugs? The good shit we asked for?” said Frank. Barbara smiled.

“They’re so good,” she mumbled.

“Who came out first?” asked Frank.

“The girl,” said Barbara. “She took. . .hours.”

“How long did the boy take?” Frank wrapped his hand in hers, and squeezed it.

“Much shorter. He’s. . .gonna be the good one,” said Barbara.

Frank laughed. “Did you write up the birth certificate yet?”

Barbara nodded. “Dennis and Deandra Reynolds. Just like we agreed.”

Frank smiled. “Dennis and Deandra Reynolds. How about that.”


	7. I am drowning

A cry echoed in the night. Barbara startled from her light slumber. One of the babies was hungry again. No - two. A second cry emerged, clashing with the first in a cacophony of misery. She groaned, and got up.

During the day, there was a nanny to help her with the chaos. However, the nanny went home at nine-o'clock. Frank was away on business most of the time, so she was all alone when the babies woke up hungry several times a night.

She wrapped her arms around herself as she trudged through the cold mansion to the twins’ room. The house was too big to heat properly in the wintertime. No matter how hard they tried, they couldn’t get the heat to rise to any floor beyond the first. Barbara and the babies were wearing thick sweaters every day despite the heating bill going through the roof.

The twins’ room was colder than the hallway. She had bought a high-end space heater, but then heard on the news that those could suffocate babies. It was sitting unused in the garage with dozens of other useless, expensive knick knacks. Barbara shivered as she walked over to the cribs. The crying was ear splitting.

Barbara picked up Dennis out of his crib, and sat down in the rocking chair. She opened her shirt, and held him up to her breast. Dennis latched easily; he always had. His eyes closed as he suckled. Thank God.

She stroked his head, curious at the thick hair that he had when he was born. It was light brown - not too far off from her own. Dee came out bald. Hopefully, her hair would be the same color. A blonde might raise questions of legitimacy. God knows she’d had enough fights with that ammunition fired. No need to add more proof to the pile of evidence that the twins were bastards.

Dennis made a satisfied sound. Barbara looked down at him, and then up at his crying sister. Her acquaintances were always talking about how warm and wonderful they felt having children. Every moment with them was blessed; they finally were complete.

A pillow of suffocating exhaustion pressed to her face. She moved her free hand to her temples, and rubbed them. “Shut up, Dee,” Barbara moaned.

The ever-present hole in her heart remained.

*

“I am not changing any disgusting diapers!” shouted Frank. It was 3:15 AM. He towered over his wife, who was pretending to have fallen back asleep. “I know you’re not sleeping, you bitch!”

Barbara cracked an eye open. “Stop making a scene. The neighbors will talk.”

“I don't care about the goddamn neighbors,” said Frank. “I am not coming home after weeks in goddamn Nam to clean up shit!”

“Oh, grow up,” said Barbara.

“‘Grow up’ she says! I saw pigs eat men, Barbara -”

“I don’t give a shit,” said Barbara. “Neither do the kids. You can either change them or let them sleep in their own shit. I’m not getting up.”

Frank sat down on the bed, fuming. “Then I’ll let them sleep in their own shit.”

Barbara huffed out a laugh. “Fine. Tomorrow, I’ll buy new locks for the bedroom and you can sleep somewhere else.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” said Frank. He looked over his shoulder, and glared at her.

“Try me,” she said.

Frank grunted, and stood up.

“Fine. But this is the only time.”

Barbara didn’t answer. She had already fallen back asleep.


	8. Dead on my feet

The tablets of Vicodin were small and robin-egg blue. She shook two out of the bottle onto the granite counter top. Barbara picked up a tablet, and rolled it between her fingers. 

_ That pain is just anxiety. Take two of these as needed. It should recede right away. _

Her nanny, Josephina, was out with the kids. They were at the Franklin Institute learning about the solar system or something. Barbara doubted how much information about the solar system two three-year-olds could retain. However, the kids always came home exhausted from the science museum, so Barbara sent them there at least once a week. Anything for as much peace and quiet as possible.

Frank hadn’t been home in months. He was building another factory, this time in Bangladesh. Their phone calls had no privacy anymore. Dee and Dennis ran towards the phone when it rang, thrilled to hear their father’s voice. To them, he was more of an exotic friend than a father. By the time the kids were done with him, he had no energy left for anything more than perfunctory questions about Barbara’s day. 

_ It was fine _ she said.  _ We’re doing just fine. _

Barbara poured herself a glass of red wine. She picked up the vicodin tablets, put them in her mouth, tipped back her glass of wine, and swallowed them. Barbara sat down on one of the bar stools, and rested her head on the counter.

It was fine. They were doing just fine.

*

Frank was sitting on a bed in a French hotel. It was the first time in months that he’d been outside southeast Asia. In comparison to his last hotel, this was a palace. White towels, white sheets, room service, and complimentary soap were luxuries he hadn’t encountered in ages. A bottle of white wine that came with the room was nestled under his arm. He took another drink from the bottle, and turned on the tv.

News. News. News. Garbage. Trash. Sports -

He settled on women’s tennis. This hotel didn’t offer pay-per-view porn, so these upskirt shots and enthused grunts were as good as he was going to get. Unfortunately, when he changed the channel, the match had gone to commercial. Goddammit.

Frank looked over at the phone. This was the closest he’d been timezone-wise to his wife and children in ages. He’d been calling less and less lately; a two AM call after a long work day was just too much. The kids had so much  _ energy _ , high-pitched voices squealing unending questions into his ears. His wife barely said hello in an exhausted voice before hanging up the phone.

Exhaustion and drunkenness pummeled him in waves. He looked back at the television; the tennis players had returned.

Frank fell asleep with his pants unzipped. He didn’t dream about home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize in canon that Josephina is the maid, but I keep figuring that she could be the nanny too? Anyway, if anyone is curious, she's not live-in because Barbara is horrible and assumes she will steal things if she sleeps there. 
> 
> I considered writing Danny Devito jacking off in detail, but then I thought better of it. You're welcome.
> 
> That being said, considering what we've seen of Dennis's nasty O-face, I can't imagine that it's anything worse than that. Yet there are over a hundred porns involving Dennis. . .I have so many questions for this fandom, including myself, and they all start with the word 'why.'


	9. Hands grasping and groping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gambling cw in this chapter.

“This house is a dump,” said Barbara. She dropped her designer purse down onto a ratty chair in the corner of the room. 

“It’s not a dump,” said Frank. “It’s a bargain.”

“You’re a millionaire. We don’t need to look for bargains,” said Barbara, folding her arms.

Frank set his bag down on the bed. He pulled open the curtains that led to the balcony. Frank waved her over to stand by his side.

“The view from here is the tits. Come look,” he said. 

Barbara walked over to the balcony, and looked outside. They were right on the ocean, wet sand from high tide spitting distance from the house. The sun was setting. It reflected off the water - orange, pink, yellow. 

Nothing she hadn’t seen before.

“This sunset would look better from the balcony of a nicer house,” she said. 

*

Caesar's Casino smelled like smoke and desperation. It was lit solely by the slot machines surrounding them, and heated by the losers who stared at the screens. Frank wiped his sweaty hands on his pants. The blackjack dealer dealt him two cards - Ace and a 2. Bad hand. He bet $100.

“Nothing I do makes her happy,” said Frank to the other players. They nodded solemnly, but without understanding. Mexicans who didn’t speak of word of English, all of them. He pressed on.

“I take her to the beach, she hates the house. I buy shit for my kid, ‘Frank, Dennis is too young for these disgusting magazines.’ I spend months and months in these backwards countries and she doesn’t even wanna bang when I get home.”

The dealer turned over the hole card to reveal a 3 of hearts. He lost. The dealer gathered up his chips.

He picked up his beer, and took a long drink. “That nanny, Maria, is raising my children while my wife knocks out on sleeping pills all day. How’s a Mexican nanny gonna teach my kids to take over the business, eh?” He took another drink, and added, “No offense.”

No reply. The dealer handed him a 5 and a 4. Weak hand. He put in $100.

“They’re brats too. Both of em. Five years old and walking around like they own the damn place.” Frank wiped sweat from his forehead onto his sleeve. “The girl’s bad, but the boy’s worse. Tantrums like you wouldn’t believe. Thought they were supposed to grow out of those when they were two.”

The dealer turned over the hole card. 9 of diamonds. Goddammit. Frank rubbed his temples as the dealer took his chips away. Frank sipped his beer again. 

“Sometimes I can’t remember why I even got married. But then I turn over in bed and look at her when she sleeps and it’s just. . .”

Another hand. 4 and 6. He put in $200.

“Why do people stay married?” he asked. 

Hole card - 10. Another $200 down the drain. Frank sighed, grabbed his chips, and went to find a luckier table.


	10. There is no shortage of blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for sick children.

“What do you mean the insurance card isn’t valid?” said Barbara. Each word rubbed her throat raw. She was struck with the same flu that had knocked Dennis out with pneumonia. Barbara shivered. How this insurance processor managed to stay warm in this urgent care -

“It appears your husband has cancelled your insurance,” said the woman.

Weak, wet hacking sounded from an examination room down the hall. Dennis’s hands were spotted with blood from covering his mouth while he coughed. Hopefully, the doctor would wash them. Dennis wasn’t lucid enough to do it himself.

In the chair next to her, Dee started to cough.The sound grated on Barbara’s ears. 

“Can we go home, mom?” she moaned. 

“For the last time, Deandra: stop being such a drama queen,” said Barbara. 

Dee pulled her knees up to her chest, and wrapped her arms around her legs. She rested her chin on her knees.

“I don’t feel good,” she said. 

“Are you coughing up blood?” said Barbara.

“No,” said Dee.

“Well, your brother is,” said Barbara. “So suck it up and let mommy deal with the mess your worthless father has made.”

Dee groaned, and tucked her face in her knees. Her coughs were muffled by her thighs. Thank god.

Barbara turned back to the insurance processor. 

“How much is this going to cost me without my retarded husband’s insurance?”

*

Frank was dead asleep in a Hong Kong hotel when the phone rang. He snorted as he rolled over, picked up the phone, and said, “Eh?”

“What the hell is wrong with you, Frank Reynolds?” said a woman’s voice - his wife. Frank rubbed his eyes, and sat up in bed.

“Barbara?” he said. “What -”

“No. Shut up!” said Barbara, her voice rising. “You don’t get to talk. Cancelling our family’s health insurance? I’d say I was surprised, but after seeing how cheap you are everywhere else, I can’t believe I hadn’t guessed before I tried to use it.”

The health insurance policy - shit, she had noticed earlier than he had thought she would.

“All you were using it for was your stupid pills,” said Frank. “I’m not paying for my wife to be a pillhead anymore.”

Barbara laughed; it was humorless. “You did it out of spite! Oh, that’s  _ so _ much better than you being a fucking cheapskate. Thanks for clearing that up.”

“Maybe if you didn’t spend so much time getting high and you spent more time raising our goddamn children -” growled Frank.

“Dennis got pneumonia, you ass,” said his wife in a cold voice. “He’s shaking and coughing up blood and. . .”

Her voice trailed off.

“You have the money to pay for it out of pocket. What does it matter?” said Frank. 

“That’s not the point,” said Barbara. “Jesus Christ, Frank. Do you care about us at all?”

She didn’t wait for him to answer before she hung up the phone. The late-night sounds of the surrounding city attacked his ears. All over Hong Kong, night workers and revelers were living their lives, unaware of the millions of other lives around them. The personal dramas of these people were not a part of their own story. They weren’t a part of Frank’s either - there was nobody in Hong Kong that had ever made Frank feel like he was home.

Frank hung up the phone, and closed his eyes.

Sleep never came.


	11. The Ritz-Carlton Hotel in Kingston, Jamaica

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for drunkenness and uh. . .Frank and Barbara having sex. I almost guarantee I've written it in a way where you don't have to picture his sex face or his nude body at all but yanno. You have been warned.
> 
> I really like this chapter and I hope you do too.

“To twenty years,” said Frank, holding his wine glass out for a toast. The two of them were sitting in bed at the Ritz-Carlton after a long day of stress and travel. Tomorrow, their second honeymoon was scheduled to begin. The smile that accompanied his toast was tight. She tapped his glass, and gave him a tight smile in return.

They downed their wine like teenagers doing shots. Frank poured both of them another glass, two, three. Drunkenness consumed them as night fell. The sounds of the television, their neighbors, and the city blurred together like a child’s watercolor painting. Frank’s breathing was heavy and hot. They toasted to their marriage until the clink of glasses lost meaning and the wine ran out.

She lost her dress and her underwear and he was on top of her, inside her. He kissed her neck and stroked her curves. Barbara ran her fingers through his hair and over his bald spot. He was getting older. She was menopausal. They were growing old together.

_ "I, Barbara, take you, Frank, for my lawful husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and health, until death do us part." _

He put a fat finger inside her, and touched her the way he had for twenty years. She gasped; the wine kept her loose as her husband worked her open. Their lives outside of this moment melted away. She was twenty-five and in this hotel and her husband was looking at her like she held the world on a string. He kissed her shoulders and she thought  _ this could work. _ Frank rode her from behind until she forgot either of their names and she thought  _ we’re going to be okay. _

Barbara turned over, and he pushed inside her. Frank moved her hair away from her neck, and kissed it. He wasn’t as fast as he used to be, and his grunts were worse, but he filled her, tight and familiar. She gasped in stops and starts and she thought  _ we made it _ . Frank pushed harder and harder and she thought  _ we’re still here.  _ Barbara came and she thought  _ twenty years left. _

After, she fell asleep and didn’t dream of anything at all.

*

Frank woke before his wife the day that their second honeymoon began. Strands of hair had fallen over her face and in her mouth while she was sleeping. He gently pulled them away from her face. She stirred, but didn’t wake.

Barbara got hot after they had sex, so her body was uncovered. Frank marveled at her figure. Her breasts were still perky, and her curves were the same as the day they got married. The only signs that she had even had two children were the faint stretch marks that lined her stomach.

His head pounded from the wine they drank the night before. The sunshine today would be punishing. Before Barbara got a mimosa in-hand, she was going to be a nightmare. After, well -

Last night was a blur of pleasure and wine. Absent the latter, the former was going to leave. The idea that this vacation would revive their marriage was a fantasy. Their lives unraveled in parallel lines, pills and travel, children and work. Twenty years of sharp words and actions had eroded their love from passion to obligation.

_ "I, Frank, take you, Barbara, for my lawful wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and health, until death do us part." _

Barbara stirred again; she was waking up this time. Frank got out of bed, and went to the bathroom to take a shower. If he let her go first, there was no way he’d be on time for the hotel’s complimentary breakfast.


	12. Our love has never had a leg to stand on

The air hung heavy with rage on the day Barbara screamed, “I never loved you!”

Frank stepped backwards in shock, as if he had been slapped. An instant later, his face went red with fury.

“I never loved you either, you dirty whore!”

The world fell away as these poisonous words twisted together like rattlesnakes between them.

“I hope you die,” said Barbara coldly. 

Frank flung his hands in the air. “Unbelievable! Well, you know what, bitch? You’d better pray I stay alive because if I die, I’m gonna make sure you go right down with me!”

Barbara laughed humorlessly. “How on earth do you plan to do that?”

“I will haunt you from beyond the goddamn grave!” shouted Frank. “You’ll kill yourself to get away from me!”

Barbara folded her arms and turned away from her husband. “I’ve had enough of your ranting and raving for a lifetime. Tomorrow, I’m calling a lawyer. We’re getting divorced.”

*

The lawyer flipped through Frank’s small stack of documents. 

“Well, this seems like fairly boilerplate stuff. Most of my clients your age don’t have a pre-nup. You were smart.”

Frank grunted in response. 

“However, according to her lawyer, she’s attempting to sue for the house,” said the lawyer. 

“Tell her to burn in hell,” said Frank. 

“Alright then,” said the lawyer, straightening his papers.

“Everything about that life, I did for her,” said Frank. “The fancy house, the cars, the parties. I hated it. I don’t want it anymore. She’s gonna think that means she can have it.” Frank clenched his fists. “You had better let her know that hell will freeze over before she gets to keep any of that shit.”

“I’ll make sure to let her know,” said the lawyer.

“Thirty-five years down the drain,” said Frank, shaking his head. “Thirty-five goddamn years I wasted on that bitch. You know she told me she never loved me?”

The lawyer pushed Frank’s papers back to him. “I’m not surprised. Divorce is a very difficult thing.”

“I told her I never loved her either but shit. . .how do you even know that? What the hell is real love anyway?” said Frank. 

The lawyer sighed. “If we had that answer I’d be out of a job.”

“Marriage blows,” said Frank. “You married?”

“I am not,” said the lawyer.

Frank nodded. “Good. Stay that way.”

The lawyer smiled. “I hear that all the time. I’ll think about it.”

“You should,” said Frank. “And don’t have any shitty kids either. I gotta go tell mine the news and I am not looking forward to it.”


	13. What will I do when I don't have you?

Barbara invited one of her boy toys over to celebrate the day that the divorce was finalized. The two of them drank wine and laughed and fucked in every room of the hard-won house. After he left, she went through the house, and tossed all of the photographs of Frank in the trash where he belonged.

*

Frank was ankle deep in sewage when he got a call on his cell phone that the divorce had been finalized. He laughed, and gave Charlie a high five. Then, he felt something metal catch between his toes. He pulled it up, and found a ring. Frank laughed again as he tossed it back in the sewage where it belonged.


	14. Sing for the damage we've done

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for mentions of character death

_ Your turkey neck is looking exceptionally attractive this evening. _

The words swam in Barbara’s head as she waited to consult with the plastic surgeon. She picked up an outdated Redbook magazine, and flipped through it. Models thirty years her junior smiled back at her. Photoshopped to free them of blemishes and flab of course but their necks -

Barbara pinched the skin on her neck. It sagged between her fingers, free of youthful elasticity. Thank god for plastic surgery. She was going to look twenty forever if it killed her.

“Barbara Reynolds?” said the nurse. Barbara put down her magazine, and grabbed her purse.

“Here,” she said. 

The nurse opened the door to the hallway of examination rooms, and beckoned her inside.

*

The champagne Frank drank on the day his wife died was cheap and sweet as candy. He clinked glasses with the grown children who weren’t his children, reveling in his elation. The twins and Mac were unconscious by midnight. He and Charlie talked about the barflies, laughed at nonsense, and drank their weight in booze until 2 AM. Then, they left the bar arm in arm as they had so many nights before. 

When they were halfway home, Charlie hiccuped and said, “Did you love her?”

“Eh?” said Frank. He swayed, and Charlie pulled him back up.

“Your wife, man. Did you ever love her?”

Frank burped. “Ah, shit Charlie. I dunno. Why?”

“You were just married for such a long time, man,” said Charlie. “Now you’re celebrating that she died. I’m just trying to figure this whole thing out.”

“Marriage is bullshit. It’s an agreement to tolerate each other. Nothin to do with love,” said Frank.

“You say that but, like,” Charlie hiccuped and swayed. Frank held him up. “Shit, I’m wasted.”

“You’re talking nonsense cos you’re drunk,” said Frank. Charlie shook his head.

“No, man. I’d want to know even if I was sober. Why would you get married to someone you didn’t love?” he asked. 

Frank looked up at the sky with his mouth open, contemplating Charlie’s question. The city sky was devoid of moon and stars. Something long-lost coiled around his heart and gave it a single squeeze. Frank shook his head; the feeling receded.

“Why does anyone do anything?” said Frank. “Stop asking such stupid questions and walk faster. I wanna get home before the sun comes up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that was around 6K longer than it had any right to be. I'm going to be upfront that I never truly thought I would spend just over three weeks writing about the doomed love story of Barbara and Frank, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little sad to see it go. Writing this has been a surprisingly emotional experience, and I am grateful to penworthy for giving me the opportunity to partake in it. Thank you also to all of my readers, commenters, kudosers, and bookmarkers. It means a lot that you gave this fic a chance, even though it's very weird.


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